Snape watched the last grain of sand in the hourglass circle and fall. It was the last minute of the last hour of the last day of classes. Upon the morrow, the hallowed halls of Hogwarts would be briefly filled with children, and then -- blessed silence. He looked forward to it, every December, every June. This year, it would be even better. The Order seemed to be planning all their festivities at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Snape poured himself three fingers of scotch and took it with him to stand beside the fire. Perhaps Dumbledore would see the necessity for him to stay behind. Hold down the fort, and all that rot.

Not bloody likely, he thought. With the help of his new and wholly self-appointed assistant, The Insufferable Know-it-all Herself, he didn't even have the standard excuses of grading papers or restocking his supply cabinet. In fact, she'd even made a comment about how nice it would be, getting to away from the dungeons, getting a chance to relax for a moment. He took a drink as he scoffed to himself. She had actually said something about enjoying his company outside the classroom, perhaps over a glass of port and a good book. At the time, his initial response was that she had inhaled some dangerous fumes, and that if she didn't stop speaking nonsense, he was going to send her down to see Mme. Pomfrey. She'd laughed at him. Actually laughed at him. He'd growled something about prior obligations and had swept off in a swirl of black robes. Honestly, who did she think he was? Just because they'd learned to work together, side by side, and perhaps had even had the odd amicable conversation, it didn't mean that he would seek out her company outside Hogwarts. Even if it was her last year. Even if she was already the youngest published Potions author in the history of the wizarding world. Even if that bush of hair had turned into a golden mane and her genes had spared her the gangliness of puberty, skipping straight to feline grace and a mouth that...

He wished he'd been paying closer attention to that little speech Dumbledore had given him about the girl's use of a time turner. He'd tuned out after the old man had said something about "Life In Wartime" and "Living it to the fullest." Everything else had faded into the background as Snape resorted to doing mole calculations in his head to pass the time until Albus noticed he wasn't paying attention. Sometimes this could take days.

He niggled at the thought, the very idea. Sharing a glass of port with the young woman. A quiet fireside chat. It was like a sore tooth. He hadn't been able to stop himself from prodding at it. Considering the possibility that she might actually prefer his company. He knew that her academic potential, not to mention her wit and cheek, far outstripped her peers. I'll be damned if I'll say it aloud, but she surpasses some of *my* peers. He had already started her on his doctoral level potions curriculum and she hadn't even batted an eyelash.

And now she had expressed an interest in his company. Outside the classroom. Outside the walls of Hogwarts. Severus looked about his study, glanced at the barren surface of his professorial desk and thought, Well, why not. Why not indeed.

~~~

He sat on the edge of his bed, unbuttoning the cuffs of his coat. Of course the girl had spent Christmas with her family. Of course he shouldn't have expected her to spend the entire holiday lounging about the Black house, hanging on his every word. He really shouldn't have expected anything more.

He glanced over at the small working laboratory table he'd arranged in the corner of his rooms. It needed tidying. When had he become such a slob? When she started cleaning up after you, perhaps? His lip curled involuntarily. Oh yes, that must be it. Professor Snape needs looking after. He toed off his boots and damped the lights.

Maybe she'd be back in the morning.

~~~

Snape watched the last grain of sand in the hourglass circle and fall. His hand grasped and turned it in the frame, setting it in motion again. One more hour before the New Year graced them all with its glorious presence. Numb fingers uncorked the scotch and poured the glass. For some reason, the scent of smoke and peat that usually soothed his nerves held no appeal. He'd given up and apparated back to Hogwart's this afternoon. Bedamned if he was going to sit around feeling like the castoff of a seventh year Gryffindor. He palmed a book off his shelf, not even looking at the title, and sank into his arm chair. His boots hit the hearth moments later. He glanced at the hourglass again and chuckled darkly. Such is life.

It had been a peaceful moment there, for more than a few minutes. A moment without expectations. But as anyone at Hogwarts could tell you, such a moment was not built to last. The bubble of calm was pierced by a flash of green light in the fire. A folded note fluttered down at his feet. His eyes narrowed as he crooked a finger and gestured it into his grasp. One handed, he thumbed it open.

Professor, I am dearly sorry I missed you here. Albus tells me you left just this afternoon, and I was so looking forward to marking the New Year with you. Would it be alright if I joined you? I don't mean to impose, I was just -- I don't know, thinking that if you're like me -- I thought perhaps you wouldn't want to be alone, especially tonight. I know you won't hesitate to tell me to bugger off, but I thought it couldn't hurt to ask.

~HG

How very Gryffindor, he thought.

He read it again. He muttered a glamour dispelling charm over it and read it a third time. Another green flash caught his eye and he couldn't help but grin in defeat as a bottle of 1912 Taylor's Vintage Port appeared on his hearth. She really knew how to sweet talk a man -- or at least a man who knew his port. He accio'd a quill from his desk and jotted a simple note on the outside of hers and flipped it back through the fire with a twist of the wrist.

Bending, he swept his boots away and collected the port, his lips pursed as he tried to remember where he kept the good crystal. It wouldn't do to transfigure something for this. He was in the process of clearing a path through the books to the crystal cabinet when the fire place flared again, bathing the room in green light. He smiled to himself as he heard her cough and lightly evanesco away the ubiquitous soot and ash of floo travel.

"Oh, there you are. I'm glad you got my note. I was afraid you might have retired for the evening, but Professor Dumbledore assured me that you'd be awake."

"Yes, well. The old man should know my night owl habits by now. Ah yes, here they are." He turned, port glasses in hand, and beheld his guest for the first time. For a moment, he held his breath, not daring to give himself away. She wore dress robes, tailored to fit her figure, in shades of autumn gold. Her hair was swept up off her neck except for a single ringlet. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware this was a dress occassion." There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in his tone, which seemed to take Hermione off guard.

"I -- yes -- well, there was quite a party going on at Number Twelve, so I thought that I'd -- well -- y'know..." She crossed her hands over her chest and let one manicured hand rest on her rather exposed decolletagé.

"Indeed, I don't." He stepped into the circle of light cast by the fire and set the glasses down on the side table. Turning back, he extended his hand to her and was delighted when she took it. "You aren't telling me you got all dressed up for my sake, are you?"

She nodded, and he watched her cheeks color. "Well, let me pour you a glass of wine and see if the house elves haven't already gone to bed. You look like a woman who could use chocolate." Again, he gestured and the mate to his own arm chair trotted over to join them. "What -- did Potter and Weasely finally find your last nerve and stand on it?" She giggled and he grinned. And made no attempt to hide it, which surprised both of them.

"Don't bother the kitchen staff. I'm quite fine, actually." He nodded in acquiescence and bid her take a seat. She did so, slipping out of her flats and curling her legs beneath her. She accepted her glass of port and he marvelled at her hands. Hands he had never truly scrutinized outside the laboratory. "I do have one question, Professor."

He sat and stretched his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. "Ah yes. A question. Two point three minutes. You lasted longer than usual."

She exhaled a soft laugh, and he watched as her shoulders relaxed. There beneath this startling beauty was the Hermione he knew. He took a sip of wine and sighed in appreciation. "Your note. It said simply, 'If you must, but there will be a price.' What did you mean by that?"

He glanced over the rim of his glass at her and cocked an eyebrow. "Didn't your housemates tell you never to barter with a Slytherin lest you know the true price?"

"Well, yes, but you stopped giving me cauldrons to clean six months ago."

"Indeed." He glanced at the hourglass on the mantle. "I think I shall wait to collect just a bit longer."

She followed his gaze and then glanced back to the surprisingly open face of her greasy git of a Potions Master. Her brown eyes twinkled as she spoke. "Who are you and what have you done with Severus Snape?"

His look of mock indignation made her giggle again. "Would it be forward of me, Miss Granger, to ask you a favor? Can we, at least for tonight, put aside the masks? I grow weary of living down to everyone's expectations of me, yours included."

She set her glass down and gave him a long look. He met and held her eyes, a multitude of emotions ghosting across the depths between them. "I suppose we should," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

"For pity's sake, don't start apologizing," he growled. "Just --" His voice trailed off as he looked away, staring into the fire.

"Just -- what?"

He closed his eyes, long fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. A long moment passed before he answered. "I don't know what you expected, coming here, Hermione. I am not very good company, even with a few glasses of port in me."

He felt her rise, heard the soft rustling of her silken robes. He felt her warmth at his elbow. "I don't expect anything, Severus."

His eyes opened at the sound of his name. Her face was open, young and full of light. So many times in the last few months, he'd felt the darkness in him being driven back by her presence at his side. It was more than he deserved. It was too much to want. Somewhere above them, the Hogwarts clock began to chime midnight. "Hermione--"

"Shut up," she murmured. She extended one shaking hand to brush the hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear. "Are you going to collect or not?"

He nodded and leaned forward. And tasted heaven on her lips.